Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 9: The End of a Hero

CLANG—

A heavy sound echoed through the chamber as the Apothecary fell to his knees.

The sound immediately drew Arthur's attention. He scanned the battlefield one last time, confirming there were no living enemies, then shook the blood from his gauntlet, set down his shield, and reached out to support the wounded Marine.

smack~

But the Apothecary slapped Arthur's steadying hand away. He reached behind him and retrieved a long, rectangular case, pressing it firmly into Arthur's palm.

"My Lord," the Apothecary began, his blurred vision pulling away from the ornate armor and shield before him. His voice was a rasping wheeze, choked with the sound of escaping air. The massive gash in his chest had clearly severed his windpipe.

"..."

Arthur wanted to tell him that this was no time for words, that he needed to lie down and have his wounds treated. But then he looked at the wound—a chasm that nearly split the Marine in two, yet was only just beginning to slowly ooze blood—and he didn't know what to do.

"This is... the legacy of my brothers. I... cough... I have guarded their honor."

Arthur knelt on one knee. He looked at the bodies of the Deathwatch marines around them, almost all of them hollowed out, then at the case in his hands, which was still radiating a faint cold. He began to piece together the nature of this "duel."

After achieving victory, the Khornate warband had constructed this gladiatorial pit from the bodies of the fallen loyalists. The Apothecary, as the defending champion, was forced to face challenge after challenge from the heretics. The prize for each victory was the gene-seed of one of his battle-brothers, and the right to face a stronger opponent.

But both the Apothecary and the gene-seed he fought for were merely components of a larger, blasphemous ritual.

The moment the Apothecary failed, both he and all the gene-seed he had won back would be sacrificed to the Blood God, becoming part of the victor's power.

It was a duel he was always destined to lose.

But now, in this moment, as his life faded away...

A warrior had descended from the heavens, shattering the profane ritual. A storm of bolter fire had rained down, dragging the spectators who believed victory was theirs back into the bloody battlefield.

The explosive light reflected in Syphrus's eyes, and for a moment, it was as if he were staring into a cold sun.

He had won.

"I see," Arthur said, nodding solemnly.

He reached out, intending to take the gene-seed container, but found his hand held fast.

"My Lord, you must swear an oath," Syphrus said, his gaze locking with Arthur's, his voice weak. "Swear that you will be loyal to the Emperor, and fight for Mankind until your last breath."

Arthur couldn't imagine how he was still able to speak. He fell silent for a moment, then gave a firm, serious nod.

"...I swear."

"Swear that you will guard the secret of a brother Chapter's gene-seed with your life, and never allow the heretic to lay eyes upon it."

"I swear."

"Swear that you will carve a bloody path through legions of foes to reach a brother's side, and that you will spend your last drop of blood to reclaim his honor!"

"I swear."

"Haaaah—"

Syphrus let out a long, shuddering breath, as if all his strength had left him in that instant. The hand pressing down on the gene-seed container finally sagged.

"My Lord... for the Emperor... for Macragge..."

Arthur listened patiently, until the thin, reedy voice faded into nothing, until his transhuman hearing told him there was no longer any rise and fall in the Marine's chest.

The scarred and battered gauntlet slipped from the case and fell to the deck. Arthur could clearly sense that the heroic soul within the shell of ceramite was gone.

"..."

Ignoring the points counter that was now skyrocketing in his vision, Arthur gently laid the Apothecary's body down. He picked up the fallen Marine's Narthecium, interfaced it with his own system, and, following the operating manual displayed on his HUD, carefully began the process of extracting the Progenoid Glands from his body.

BZZZZT~

In the dueling pit, Romulus, having finished dealing with the enemy, had already sent his drone-marines back to support the Astra Militarum. He himself had entered the core of the Gellar Field generator to begin his investigation.

Aside from the roaring flames unleashed by the Sisters as they purged the heretics' remains, and the low, mournful prayers that held both sorrow and rage, the only sound was the buzz of a reductor saw cutting through ceramite.

As the saw bit by bit opened the dead warrior's armor, Arthur accessed the data the Apothecary had transferred to him, learning the origin of the recovered gene-seed.

GENE-SEED INVENTORY: Crimson Fists-4, Mantis Warriors-4, Minotaurs-3, Star Scorpions-2, Space Wolves-2, Blood Angels-1.

And—

The reductor's needle pierced the final gland, siphoning out its precious contents. A line of data appeared on Arthur's display.

[SYPHRUS GAGE]

[APOTHECARY, DEATHWATCH. STATIONED AT WATCH FORTRESS ETERNAL HUNT.]

[FORMER CHAPTER: ULTRAMARINES.]

CLICK—

The lid of the cryo-container sealed shut, and the data on Arthur's display refreshed.

GENE-SEED INVENTORY: ...Ultramarines-2.

He stood, holding the container as if it were a fragile piece of glass.

A total of eighteen gene-seeds.

He placed the container in a shielded compartment on his lower back, nestled beneath his power pack where it was least likely to be damaged. He waited until the container's internal systems interfaced with his armor, displaying a real-time status of the gene-seed within. Only then did Arthur let out a long breath.

Recovery complete.

Then, he stood and turned to the Canoness nearby.

"Sister."

"My Lord!"

The Canoness, who had been incinerating heretic corpses with promethium, ejected a smoking fuel canister from her flamer and slapped in a fresh one. Hearing the Angel of Death's call, she set aside her work and came before him, making a reverent sign of the Aquila.

"Your name, Sister."

"Arabella, my Lord."

Saint Arabella, the founder of the Order of the Sacred Rose, and the living saint venerated by the order. To be given that name was a sign of great honor and seniority within the Chapter.

"Sister Arabella, I ask that you pray for my brothers. Guide them on their path to the Golden Throne."

Arthur felt that these warriors should not depart in silent, desecrated shame. But he was unfamiliar with the rites of the Astartes. As a man who had never been religious, he had no idea how to give these warriors—beings deified by the Imperial Cult—a proper send-off.

So he could only turn to the Sisters.

In a universe where faith had real power, there was no one more professional when it came to prayer than a devout Sister of Battle.

"It would be my honor, my Lord."

The Angel's words were blunt and simple, but to Arabella's ears, they were the highest possible tribute.

Every Space Marine Chapter had its own unique culture, with internal differences that often far exceeded those between the factions of the Ecclesiarchy. This, combined with the unique nature of their gene-seed, meant that Space Marines placed enormous importance on their funerary rites. It was exceedingly rare for anyone outside a Chapter's own Chaplains to be permitted to preside over them.

Therefore, for any citizen who worshipped the Emperor, the chance to preside over the last rites for one of His Angels was an immeasurable honor.

Even for a Canoness who commanded over a thousand Battle-Sisters, it was an offer she could never refuse.

(End of Chapter)